


go your own way

by Elfgrandfather



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Identity Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrandfather/pseuds/Elfgrandfather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddy worries about where he ends and Orange begins, about the friendship he's forging with White, and about how comfortable everything feels. Meanwhile, Orange and White get tacos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	go your own way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rumpelsnorcack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpelsnorcack/gifts).



> Okay, first off, I apologise for any and all Britishisms I may have slipped into this story and for my disconcertingly vague portrayal of LA - as a European who's never been to California, I'm bound to have made some blunders my beta (shout-out to you, Ben) didn't pick up on. I also extrapolated a lot of the identity issues and so on off small bits of dialogue, mannerisms and set dressing, so bear with me if some of it seems a little reach-y! Title courtesy of Fleetwood Mac.
> 
> Hi rumpelsnorcack! I did my best to fulfil your prompt. Although Pink ended up being a bit peripheral to the story, I hope it still ticks your boxes. I felt like I had to mark off 'White/Orange' in the relationships section due to subtext, but it's pretty much a gen story in my opinion. Anyway, I hope you'll like it! Happy Holidays!

‘You’re listening to K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies, where the seventies stay alive.’

Fleetwood Mac’s _Go Your Own Way_ got louder the closer Freddy got to the car. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the greasy weight of the bags in his right hand or the frosty sodas he clutched against his body, icy sweat permeating his shirt as they thawed. Being in the moment was simple. These guys were just that – regular guys – it wasn’t hard to slip into easy laughter and crank out comments about the Dodgers getting creamed at the last game. The problem was being alone, even for the couple of minutes it took to order takeout. Would Orange have smirked at the girl behind the register like that? Would he have fumbled with the change, spilled coins on the floor, watched her dribble excuses as she scrambled to fetch it all from the ground? Strands of hair stuck to his forehead. The sun made White’s car look almost painfully bright.

‘Hey,’ Orange bent a little to reach the door handle, fingers slipping over the scorching metal. White swiped his comb through his hair one last time, slipped it back into his breast pocket, and smiled at his colleague.

‘What’d you get?’ White asked. Orange handed him a drink and a bag before settling down in the passenger seat.

‘Two cazos and fries. I mean, I think you can see it for yourself,’ Orange smiled sardonically, pointing at the translucent spots where the fat had permeated his bag. White snorted.

‘Sorry, princess, didn’t know you were watching your figure.’

‘Fuck you,’ Orange sucked on his straw. The soda was almost room temperature already, but the drink felt good flowing down his throat. Sort of soothing. ‘How’s your cholesterol, pops?’

‘Fuck you right back, buddy boy,’ White laughed. He pointed a fry at the derelict restaurant a few dozen feet away. ‘Best damn place in the city. You gotta go to the Mexicans if you want real Mexican food. Try the taco, see if I’m lying.’

Orange fished his taco out of the limp bag and unceremoniously bit into the soft shell. Damn. He could feel oily juices seep out of the meat every time he chewed and he half expected to sink his teeth into a globule of unprocessed fat, but his taste buds whacked away anything resembling disgust. Bite one had established that this _was_ the best fucking place in the city. ‘Wow,’ he almost moaned, ‘how’d you find out about this joint?’

‘Mr Pink talked about it. Said it was worth risking coming down here for the taste.’ White shrugged. ‘Even a stopped clock’s right sometimes.’

Orange glanced out of the open window on his side. The surrounding buildings reminded him of Judge Dredd, but shittier – all the grey industrial grime without any of the futurism, save for the sprawling neon graffiti. The sun beat down hard on the ripped bags of trash filling the neighbouring vacant lot and the air was thick with heat and garbage, which travelled through Orange’s nose to mix with the flavour of the taco in his mouth. Even though he knew he’d sweat like a pig, he quickly rolled up his window. ‘What’s wrong with Pink?’ he asked, trying to return to his meal.

‘Nothing wrong with him,’ said White, ‘Joe says he’s a good thief, he’s just, you know, kind of a pain in the ass. Thinks he knows a lot when he’s just talking crap.’

‘Yeah, seems like he’s got some warped priorities,’ Orange thought back to how insistent Pink had been about changing his name despite the licking Joe obviously ached to give him. A smile tugged at White’s lips. ‘What?’

‘I think I saw Pink around Joe’s place when he was a kid.’

Orange raised his eyebrows. ‘Seriously?’

‘Joe Cabot takes in a lot of strays,’ White shrugged again before taking a quick sip of his lukewarm soda, ‘I know he got me out of a couple real tight spots back in the day. I guess he must’ve helped Pink out too. You know his weird eyes? Kid had the same eyes.’

The taco felt like lead in Freddy’s stomach. He’d been able to tell Holdaway who White was, who Lawrence Dimick was, identifying the others would be an amazing boon – but. Even though he knew White liked him, Freddy didn’t think he could get away with blatantly asking for information, no matter how much of an Oscar-worthy actor he’d become over the past… weeks? Months? Lying had been disturbingly easy, slipping into someone else’s skin deceptively freeing. Years. Orange smirked.

‘Hard to forget those, yeah,’ he took the cigarette White offered him, returning the favour by lighting both of their smokes with his silver lighter, ‘figured someone raised in this sorta lifestyle’d be better at shutting up and following orders.’

The tip of White’s cigarette burned brightly as he leisurely inhaled and exhaled, blueish smoke jetting out of his nose like a tired old dragon. Freddy watched White’s – Dimick’s – _White’s_ tongue swipe over cracked lips. ‘There’s all kinds of people in this business. It’s better not to assume. You think Joe Cabot could’ve gotten where he is if he was good at shutting up and following orders?’

‘Hey, I didn’t say you had to be like that all the time, you just gotta know when it’ll help. I don’t think making a big deal over being called “Mr Pink’s” gonna be a career-maker,’ Orange protested. He tapped his cigarette into his empty soda cup. ‘Unless that’s how Joe Cabot got started, in which case, I’ll go eat a dick, Your Honor.’

White chuckled. ‘You’ll find out how he got started if you do a couple more jobs with him, he likes talkin’. We all do, I guess.’

‘You gotta watch your mouth so much it’s hard not to run it when you know you’re safe, huh?’

‘Ain’t always nice,’ White agreed, glancing at Orange through his sunglasses, impenetrable, ‘but sure as shit worth it. We’ll make a hundred thousand each on this job, easy,’ he paused for a few moments and flashed his usual straightforward grin, ‘we can get real tacos in Mexico in a couple months and I’ll tell you about Joe’s Home for Wayward Boys, alright?’

The lead ball in Freddy’s belly sunk deeper, squeezing his organs and pulling hard at his throat. ‘Yeah,’ Freddy heard Orange say, tasting the dry words as they were spoken, ‘it’s a date.’

‘Slow down, you haven’t even gotten me a drink yet,’ White said, cramming his last fry into his mouth between two puffs. 

Freddy’s mouth was still dry and cottony from the salty food and the weather and _everything_ , and he desperately needed a break from whatever it was he was feeling. ‘Stay put and I’ll get you one now, I need another soda anyways. You got two bucks?’

‘You don’t have two bucks?’ the exaggerated disbelief in White’s tone made Orange grin as he left the passenger seat and trekked around the front of the car. White reached through his window, slapped a five dollar note in Orange’s hand – and his expression changed completely, switching from good humour to threatening blankness in a second. Freddy’s heart skipped a beat, but Orange just snorted.

‘Jesus, I’ll pay you back if it matters that –‘

Orange’s ribs crashed into the car door first, sending sparks flying to his pain receptors and making him drop the bill. Wrestling down the shock and the pain, he immediately rolled against the side of the car to see who had pushed him so violently, only to find himself nose to knife with a guy who looked and smelled like he’d been sleeping in that fucking nearby garbage lot for the past month. His eyes twitched rapidly, blown-out pupils jumping from Orange to White, whose whole body had started to tense up like a coiled spring. 

‘Cash,’ the tweaker’s breath felt like tendrils against Orange’s face, reaching through his nose to twist and hack at Freddy’s already incredibly frayed nerves. ‘Everything you got. Now!’

‘You okay, buddy?’ White didn’t make any moves toward his wallet – not that Orange expected him to – and kept carefully inspecting the intruder. The guy waved his knife from man to man, like he was unable to decide who the bigger threat was, until he settled on keeping the blade pointed at Orange but his eyes locked on White. Big mistake.

‘I don’t wanna do this, man, but I will if I have to!’ he screamed, ‘just hand over the _fucking money_ , faggots!’

White opened his mouth, but Orange cut him off by slamming his left hand against the inside of the tweaker’s wrist, sending the knife flying, then rammed the heel of his right hand hard into the guy’s chin, crashing his jaws together and muffling a nascent howl. He brought his fingers to his mouth, spitting blood and broken teeth, which gave Orange the perfect window to sweep the tweaker off his feet with a swipe to the legs. The knife clattered onto the hot pavement only seconds before its owner hit the ground, too busy clutching at his face to break the fall. K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies was still playing on the radio. Freddy realised that, depressingly, he’d been kicking ass to the entirely unsuitable strains of Blondie’s _Heart of Glass_.

Orange opened the back seat door and jumped in, just as the moaning heap of man outside managed to lift himself up with his elbows.

‘Fucking piece of –‘

He only managed a choked gurgle when White crashed the driver’s side door into his face, instantly knocking him out. White closed the door and revved the engine while Orange clambered into the passenger seat. The guy definitely wasn’t any sort of real threat, but hanging around a knocked-out meth addict the day before a heist wasn’t the smartest plan.

‘Keep the change, motherfucker!’ White yelled. The tires screeched as they sped off the parking lot. Orange said nothing, listening to the low hum of the engine and the sound of the wheels bumping across hollows in the road, adrenaline racing through his system. He cracked a smile when the start of Bowie’s Heroes swelled and filled the car.

‘Ah, jeez,’ he mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at White, who chose just that moment to shoot his passenger a quick look out of the corner of his sunglasses, making their eyes meet. White let out a low chuckle, which added to the absurdity of the situation and was enough to send Orange into an irrepressible laughing fit. He dropped his head into his hands, crinkled eyes peering through the slits of his fingers at White’s square, sinewy hand resting on the gearshift, and Freddy let the peals wash through his bowed body until his stomach ached and his eyes stung with tears. Fuck.

‘You okay, buddy-boy?’ Orange heard White ask. White slowed to a stop at a red light and turned toward Orange, eyebrows knitted in a transparent display of concern. ‘He didn’t get you, did he?’

‘Nah. He was just a tweaked-out meth head who didn’t know shit,’ Orange sniffed and straightened up a little, ‘I’d feel sorry for the asshole if he hadn’t shoved a knife in my face.’

‘The way I see it, we taught him a lesson, you know? Maybe he’ll think twice before he tries the same shit on someone who’ll _really_ hurt him. Not your problem.’ The sun wasn’t glaring in their eyes anymore, so White flipped his glasses off and slid them into his front pocket, next to his old comb. His naked eyes had a sadness about them, even as he reached over and gently squeezed Orange’s shoulder. ‘You can’t trust some of the guys you meet on these jobs. Lot of them can’t fight for shit. You did good, you got guts.’

It was getting harder to tell where his cover ended and where he actually began. Orange’s skin had grown out of Freddy’s uncertainties. It had become womb-like in its embrace, weathered as it was by rough living and surpassed addiction. Freddy could cocoon his awkward years of comic book nerdiness, clueless longing and fumbled touches deep within Orange’s guts, cloaked in coolness. White was waiting. Orange let out a breath that shook into something like a laugh.

‘You gonna pat me on the head too?’ he said with deliberate cockiness. White moved his hand from Orange’s shoulder to rub his knuckle on Orange’s cheek in an affectionate imitation of a punch.

‘Alright, tough guy, can I at least still buy you that soda or are you gonna keep sassing me?’ White turned his face back toward the road when the stoplight changed to green. He drove with his left hand and kept his right relaxed near the shift. Orange turned the ring on his left hand round and round his finger, noting White didn’t have one at all. He was so warm and so… real. Who was Larry Dimick? Why did he feel so genuine in his friendship – was it even a friendship? How long had they known each other? It felt like so much longer. 

‘Fuck soda,’ Orange said, lying back in the chair, ‘there’s a cheap place next to my apartment that does pretty good booze. And they have air-conditioning.’ He paused. ‘You know, if you wanna.’

Freddy’s heart was beating fast, or maybe Orange’s was. _Band on the Run_ was fading out on the radio.

‘Yeah, okay,’ said White. ‘Take a left here?’

‘Yeah! Nice,’ Orange exclaimed. White grinned. So did Freddy.


End file.
